A Past Etched in Stone
by ArSommers
Summary: ["Her Dreams, His Reality" Book 4] There are certain aspects of Harleen's life that Harley cannot forget. Her family is one of them.
1. Chapter 1

The world was filled with silence as the moon's reflection rippled in a nearby pond. Harley watched as slivers of silver moved up and down, while at the same time remained stationary in the middle of the water. How could there be so much change yet so much consistency at once? It was a question Harley decided she would ponder after she'd left the cemetery. Thus she returned her gaze to the three stones before her: Harold, Martha, and Jocelyn, all bound by blood and the surname Quinzel.

Harleen had visited her family's resting place every three to four months, but ever since the emergence of the notorious clown queen Harley came substantially less. While as a general rule Harley had no problem disregarding borders and crossing lines, she considered cemeteries one of her sacred exceptions. Each resident had a different story, even if the stories were no longer shared aloud. So out of respect for the pain of love lost, even Harley found a reason to be respectful.

Of course, it wasn't like Harley would have bothered anyone anyway. With a face so unnaturally pale and a reputation as dark as night, she had no place in a cemetery while the sun was up. So every anniversary of her family's departure from earth Harley climbed the wrought-iron gates, made her way through death's garden, and laid flowers at the site: blue for her father, pink for her mother and younger sister.

"It means a lot that you still visit,"

Harley gritted her teeth as her alter ego appeared out of the corner of her eye. "If you've come here to berate me some more," Harley growled, "I'll rip your invisible throat out,"

"I'm not here for a session," Harleen knelt down and laid an illusionary white rose on each grave. "I'm here to pay my respects,"

Harleen hadn't spoken to Harley since the break-in at Arkham, but she'd appeared often in both dreams and reality. Harley had even half-expected Harleen's arrival that night. After all, it seemed any physical reminder of the past triggered the doctor, though sometimes Harleen appeared for no apparent reason at all.

Neither spoke for a minute. Instead, they contemplated all that had been as Harleen sat on the ground while Harley stood above. In that moment, the two alter egos almost co-existed as one human being; but alas, the mental disengagement had long since been set. They were, and most likely always would be, two separate entities stitched together by the same heartache.

Harley was the first to break the silence. "I can't believe it's been nine years," she said, more to her crazy side than her sane self.

"A lot has happened since then," Harleen commented.

A fresh breeze caused Harley to shove her hands into her coat pockets. Then again, the coolness on her skin could have been a reaction to the mental images of what she had seen nine years ago that day. There had been so much blood and damage that the teenage Harleen was convinced the murders had been the work of ten madmen, not merely a single one.

It was this horrific night that led Harleen down the path of psychiatry. She wanted nothing more than to help those in need, to be the sympathetic ear and voice of reason to those who'd mentally gone astray. Harleen didn't want anyone else to suffer the loss and loneliness she felt, be they patient, inmate, or victim.

Then again, such was the dream of the sane. The arrival of the Joker inspired Harleen to trade psychiatry for psychosis. After Harley was born at ACE Chemicals, she'd glided giddily into the comfort of insanity without once looking back.

That was, not until recently.

But whenever Harley visited her family, it (almost) put things in perspective. She could have a million alter egos, but they all originated from the same past, where the heart of Harleen/Harley would always remain.

"Wow," Harleen allowed herself a small grin. "I never took you for the reflective type,"

Harley knitted her eyebrows together in frustration. "I know we're the same person, but if you could stop reading my thoughts that would make my life ten times easier,"

As if on cue, a rattling of the old guard gates caused the two to turn their heads towards the entrance.

"Perfect timing," Harley playfully stuck her tongue out. "Hope you don't mind I invited company,"


	2. Chapter 2

Deadshot had illegally entered many locations throughout his life, but breaking into a graveyard was a first. Quite frankly, he wasn't even sure why he was doing it now. All he knew was that Harley left a brief voicemail asking him to meet in a cemetery outside Gotham. Seeing as how they hadn't spoken since the Belle Reve breakout, Deadshot couldn't find an excuse to turn the unexpected meeting down.

"You know," Deadshot said as he approached Harley, "Most people prefer to meet their friends in coffee shops,"

"But we're not like most people, are we?" Harley asked as she gave him a smile. "Thanks for coming,"

Deadshot caught sight of the dates etched into the three stones, as well as the surname's uncanny similarity to "Quinn". "Are they the reason we're here?"

"Yes," Harley returned her gaze to where it had been before Harleen so rudely interrupted. "They…the Quinzels…are my family,"

Realizing this specific location wasn't some bizarre macabre whim as he'd anticipated, Deadshot said, "I'm sorry,"

Harley nodded. "I've come here on the day of their death every year since it happened. I guess I just wanted someone to be with me this time,"

"You've never brought anyone here before?" Deadshot asked, slightly surprised. "Not even the Joker?" When Harley remained silent, Deadshot asked, "Does the Joker even know about them?"

"Mr. J doesn't view death the same way I do," Harley said, trying to avoid answering the questions altogether. "He doesn't see the need to memorialize mankind once they are gone. 'Legacies are preserved in heirs and ideologies', he says, 'Not memories or memorials,'"

"That seems a little pessimistic,"

Harley shrugged. "I love my Puddin'," she said, "But that doesn't mean we share the same ideas about everything,"

Deadshot was going to ask why the Joker didn't know about her past if the two were so in love, but this hardly seemed like the right moment to bring the topic up. "So what happened to them?" he asked instead. "Your family,"

A faraway look came over Harley's face as her subconscious pulled her into Harleen's past. "I was still a teenager," she recounted. "I'd stayed after school for some help with one of my classes. When I came home I found my house surrounded by police cars and sealed off with caution tape. A…" Harley swallowed. "A madman who'd escaped Arkham had broken in and killed my parents and sister,"

"Do you have any other-"

"No," Harley said. "It's just me now,"

And thus began the solitary life of Harleen, with no family or friends to share her grief. Was it really surprising then that the Joker with all his lush insanity swept Harleen Quinzel off her feet and into the world of Harley Quinn? The Joker helped her rediscover life and love, and this new perspective even allowed her to laugh again.

However, now it seemed those tables had begun turn. The boundless bliss Harley felt with the Joker had begun to dwindle ever since the arrival of Harleen. No matter how much Harley yearned for the Joker, Harleen seemed to be consistently pulling her back, whispering in her ear that the joke had been on Harley all along.

 _Don't be his marionette. You let him play you for far too long._

"Harley?" Deadshot asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Harley whipped her head up. "Hm?"

"You okay? Looked like you were in your own little world for a moment,"

Harley scowled. Were the voices in her head now ganging up on her Puddin' too?

"It's nothing," Harley mumbled. "Just been off my medication for too long,"

They stood in silence, both unsure of what to say next to one another. Then Deadshot lowered his eyes to the ground, interlaced his fingers, and said a silent prayer.

This took Harley aback. She never would have taken Deadshot for the religious type, nor any other members of Task Force X for that matter, except perhaps Diablo. But even Harley had a moment of faith when she first laid eyes upon Amanda Waller, believing that she'd suddenly come face to face with the devil. Sometimes all it took was an extreme circumstance to reignite that spark of faith.

And so, surprising even herself, Harley lowered her eyes, interlaced her fingers, and began to say a silent prayer as well.

[To be continued in "Somebody's Hero"]


End file.
